


His Wife

by JP (jpgr1963)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpgr1963/pseuds/JP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the final moments in a broken marriage.</p><p>This is an extra chapter nugget written for my fanfiction, <i><b>The Contract</b></i>.  I think it stands on its own.</p><p>Disclaimer: This is pure fiction, nothing in this story is real, just all make believe, no intention of libel, no implied ownership, so chillax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Wife

**1980**

_Trapped in the downward spiral of another ridiculous argument over nothing, she thought he might actually hit, slap her across the face, but he didn’t. They’d fought viciously over the baby eating too many sweets or some other stupid shit. More meaningless fights, more empty apologies._

_More cold distance lodging itself between them, widening the chasm that was their decayed marriage._

_She was losing what she’d never had to begin with. Fuck, she’d already lost._

_He could pretend, the son of a bitch. He was a great pretender, polishing his bullshit image like a suit of armor until it glistened so brightly that he was confident it blinded everyone to the truth._

_Blinded her._

_But she knew. She always had, but had never said a word._

_Not to anyone._

_Not to him._

_Hell, she had a starring role in the great lie. It was her claim to fame and her cross to bear. A wife, a co-conspirator, a martyr._

Curled up on her side, her back to him, the lights in their bedroom off, the night strangely quiet, she closed her eyes tight as she felt the mattress bounce ever so slightly… lilting back and forth. Erratic breaths and the sound of fingers stroking slicked flesh.

He was jerking off, pleasuring himself with memories. Without her... again.

_She’d leave the faggot coward, she decided. Tomorrow. Or kick his pathetic, limey ass to the street. Keep everything worth anything except for her rusted, Beatle trophy._

The rocking rhythm of the bed sped up. He was closer. Unconsciously, she pulled in her folded arms and brought her knees up tighter to her torso.

_How long had she’d known?_

_Since she first met him in London, all dazed on acid and beautiful and well-fucked in his stylish outfit._

_Since she saw how they stared at each other, into each other… dependent and doting and yet somehow defiant. Different._

_She’d known about him… about them… since the beginning._

_And now... the unexplained trips and hushed phone calls in the middle of the night._

_And now... the end._

Although she’d already pulled the edge of the pillow over her ear, she could hear another change in his breathing, the soft sounds escaping from the back of his throat. She winced, waiting for the inevitable…

“John.” He whispered, before stilling with release and sinking into sleep.

_“Goodbye, Paul.”_


End file.
